Don't Forget
by KissMeDeadlyT-T
Summary: It's October 3rd, 1916— Five whole years since That Day, and Al's body was calling him back. The blood seal wouldn't last for much longer. Every time Ed thought about, his heart clenched and maybe it even stopped beating— because Al, slowly but surely, was dying. And Ed had no idea what to do. -RoyEd angst. Full description inside.


**KissMeDeadlyT-T: October 3****rd**** spells angst and feels for lil' old me. **

**I just had to write something for yesterday, but unfortunately, I was running short on time so I didn't have time to finish this in time to post it yesterday. Hell, I'm still not done it. I just decided that I'll split it into two, and finish up the second part as soon as I can. It's mostly just angst and fluff and all that good stuff that's needed for October 3****rd****.**

**This _is_ RoyEd but that's not the main focus of it. I'm really trying to hammer across the emotions that Ed feels that we don't see a whole lot of in the anime and manga, but with a dash of romance in there, because, after all, I _am_ a romance author. And let's face it— Ed would be _incredibly_ lonely. The second chapter will be more romance-focused but I'm still going to try to keep the theme as it is, because I don't want this to be just another hurt/comfort fic. Does that even make sense?**

**I don't own FMA.**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

The world was soft and calm in the light mist that had fallen as the night grew darker. His footsteps were barely audible under the steady pitter-patter of rain that fell from the dark, roiling clouds in the sky. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, but it was far away and he paid it no mind. The air smelled of cold rain and crisp autumn and he inhaled it, letting its coldness pierce him from the inside. It filled his lungs and his body until he finally released it in a heavy sigh that turned into a white puff of breath in the chilly air. For a moment, he stood and watched it as it swirled up into the sky and then disappeared entirely, and the rain pattered onto the vacant stare on his face until he finally looked back at the ground and continued walking.

He was soaked. His coat was heavy with moisture and clung to the clothes underneath and made every step feel like he had cement blocks tied to his feet. His stumps, attached to automail that was cold on his skin under his wet clothes, ached and had become stiff to the point that walking was nearly painful. But he kept walking. He kept walking and let his mind focus on the pain because if he didn't then he'd start thinking about everything and he didn't know if he could handle that.

He was losing hope. Today was October 3rd, 1916— five whole years since he'd burnt down their house in Resembool with the decision to never look back and keep forging onwards. For these past few years, he had lived only for Alphonse; to get his body back, to search for answers, to learn more about alchemy, and most of all, to keep his brother safe and alive. But that was just it. Nothing was working. The Philosopher's stone had turned out to be an impossible option and there was nothing else that worked. And he knew Al was suffering. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't even _feel_ how things felt anymore because Ed, in all his brash recklessness, had taken that away from him. It was eating him from the inside out, and lately, it had started getting worse.

Al's body was calling him back and Ed knew it. The blood seal wouldn't last for much longer. Every time Ed thought about, his heart clenched and maybe it even stopped beating— because Al, slowly but surely, was dying. And Ed had no idea what to do. He barely ate anymore, could hardly get any sleep, and it was all he could do to drag himself out of bed some days. A lot of the time he felt six feet under already. It was slowly draining him and he was trying to keep up a cheerful farce for his brother, but he knew Al could tell. And he knew Al knew. And he knew Al had accepted it. That he might not get his wish. He might not get his body back. He might die having lived a chunk of his fifteen years of life in a metal can. Al accepted it. Ed didn't. He couldn't. And he wouldn't. Al was the only thing he had lived for and if he was gone then Ed didn't know what he would do with himself. He'd lose his mind, probably.

There was a tension between the brothers lately. It wasn't because either of them was mad, or upset with one another— it was simply because one accepted his fate while the other denied it with everything he had. Neither of them spoke about it, but it was there. It was there and it hung in the air around them like their own personal demon and Ed knew it but he couldn't do anything. And he was so, so frustrated. So hopeless. Drained. Exhausted.

There were nightmares. He'd be screaming for Al to wake up but he wouldn't. There would be times when those dreaded, tiny, inky black hands were pulling Al away from him and as hard and fast as Ed ran they were always faster. And then Al was gone, and there was nothing left but ear-shattering silence and the sound of Ed's pounding heart as he jolted out of sleep and gasped for air and clutched at the empty air above him, Al's name a silent scream on his lips. Then Al would be there, demanding if he was alright, and Ed's heart would break all over again. That was why he avoided sleeping. The dreams left him trembling and crying and terrified and feeling utterly lost and he just couldn't take it anymore. And so he didn't sleep.

The rain on his face was a cold and harsh touch that helped the numbness a little bit. It was so cold it was almost painful but he didn't care because at least then he could focus on aches that were physical and not emotional. Frankly, he didn't have much room left for emotional aches anymore. He was sure he was just going to snap soon and he didn't want that because he was trying to stay strong for Al. But it was hard. It was very, very hard.

There was something else eating at him lately as well. He was experiencing so many emotions at the same time and so much that he didn't really know what it was. It was just an empty, hollow ache in his chest that throbbed sorely with every beat of his exhausted heart. He never dwelled on it too much. It was just another thing that piled on top of the emotional baggage he was already buckling under and to top it off, he didn't understand it. And so he ignored it and pretended the lonely ache in his chest was nothing more than a pesky wound that would go away with time even though time only seemed to make it worse.

He inhaled deeply. The crisp air calmed him. His chest relaxed, his shoulders slumped, and for a moment, just one tiny moment, he thought that maybe everything would be alright. They could keep fighting. Keep walking their broken and twisted path. It might bring them nowhere. They might choose to turn right when the correct way was left. But they could try, couldn't they? That was how it always had been, he and Al, straggling on and beating down their own path as they went. Then the air left him in a whoosh and the small shard of hope disappeared and he felt hollow again.

He was so cold he could barely walk anymore. His muscles were tense and his automail limbs screamed in protest with every move he made. He felt very, very tired, and for a fraction of a second, wondered what would happen if he died. The idea was so terrifying— the prospect of leaving Al alone, trapped in the armor that was slowly rejecting him— that he immediately buried it, his heart pounding up in his throat hard enough to make him start and realize that he really might freeze to death if he didn't warm up and dry off soon. He stopped walking and looked around him in an attempt to recognize his whereabouts. His lips pressed into a thin line.

The buildings were unfamiliar, looming black shapes against the stormy sky and the roads were unfamiliar. He had been so caught up in his senseless, vague thoughts that he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. He had just kept putting one foot in front of the other because stopping meant thinking and thinking meant pain. Swallowing to wet his dry, sore throat, his fists clenched at his sides and his blood boiled as anger at himself pounded through his veins. How had he been stupid enough to let himself get lost?

"Fuckin' idiot," he grumbled at himself, pulling his drenched red coat tighter around his shoulders. The action was futile and did not warm him in the least. He shoved his bangs, which were plastered with water to his face, back into his messy, tangled braid and took a steady breath to calm down. Central City's layout was not difficult to understand. If he could find the command centre, he'd easily be able to find his way back to the dingy inn where Alphonse was no doubt sitting and waiting and worrying about him.

A pang of guilt shot through Ed's heart. Alphonse was probably worrying himself sick. But Ed didn't want to go back to that hotel. He didn't want to hear Al fretting about him when Al should be fretting about himself. He knew he was being selfish by not wanting to go back, but part of him didn't care. He loved Al with every single fucking fibre of his being. But he couldn't go back to that hotel... not right now.

That hollow feeling in his chest throbbed again. What was it? He didn't understand what it meant. It wasn't guilt. Guilt burned. This didn't. This just… sat there and made him feel empty and tired and sad. Tears burned in his eyes, but he didn't know why. Maybe he was just frustrated. He was sick of not knowing what to do and not knowing what this pain meant and not knowing how to go about fixing any of the messes he was stuck in and not knowing _anything_. He did nothing to stop the tears and ducked his head and kept on walking. They could mingle with the rain and that way, he could fool even himself into thinking those weren't tears but just rain.

His thoughts were fleeting and brief, never staying long enough for him to focus on one and understand it before the next one flipped by and left him confused and dazed. He let out a short, humourless bark of laughter at himself. It figured that the one person who could probably help him figure this out was one of the reasons it was happening in the first place. Not that he blamed Al for this, because he didn't. The only one he blamed was himself— it was his fault Al was in that body and it was his fault he might never get out of it.

The buildings now were vaguely familiar and he realized he had come up to the military dorms. He recognized this. A jolt of relief went through him for a moment, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He didn't want to go back to the inn, but where could he go? The only other place he could think of was the Colonel's house, but that made that hollow throbbing come back, so he buried the thought. The Colonel had said that if ever there was an emergency and he needed shelter, Ed was welcome to grab the extra key hidden inside the mailbox and walk in (_but don't you dare break anything, Fullmetal, or so help me…_), but Ed didn't think this qualified as an emergency. Plus, it was early in the morning. He was probably asleep and Ed couldn't imagine he'd be very welcoming to a depressed and exhausted teenager walking in completely soaked in the middle of the night…

He sighed and was about to start walking again— no destination in mind, just to keep going— but a little voice reminded him that there _was_ somewhere he could go. Maybe just for a little bit, to warm up and dry off somewhat. He wasn't entirely sure she would be happy about him showing up randomly, but he _was_ sure that he could trust her to be there and that she would help him if he needed it. Which he did. He didn't like admitting it, but he needed someone to talk to. Hell, they didn't even have to talk about anything important. He just needed someone who could take his mind off of things for a while without trying to sugarcoat things and he knew that she would be that someone. Somehow, he felt like she was one of the only people he could be honest with.

He turned around and walked back to the dorms, eyes flicking between them as he tried to remember which one was the right one. Eventually, he made his decision. He dragged himself into the tall, white building and out of the frigid storm outside, breathing a soft sigh of relief as heat blasted him the moment he walked through the heavy wooden doors. His wet coat was still cold and clung to him like glue but he could feel warmth seeping into him again, and he was starting to regain feeling in his toes and fingers. Little puddles of water followed him as he shivered and made his way to the stairs, flashing the military guards his pocketwatch on the way so that they'd let him by without a scene. He remembered her room. It took every ounce of his strength to drag himself up those four sets of stairs and his mind was getting sluggish and slow by the time he made it to the familiar wooden door, the second last on the left side of the long, long hall.

It was dead silent in the building. For a moment, he hesitated— it really was late. Should he really wake her up for something so petty? Was he being selfish? After another second of debating, he concluded that yes, he was being selfish— but he needed to talk, damn it. He didn't know what to say or even what exactly was wrong, besides the obvious. All he knew was that he needed to talk. And so he lifted one shaking fist and knocked one, two, three times on the wooden door.

The first thing he heard was the muffled sound of nails clicking on the floor and barking. He felt panicked, for a moment, thinking that Black Hayate might wake the entire apartment, but moments later there were soft footsteps approaching the door and then it was cautiously pulled open. He was met with a pair of suspicious claret eyes that softened immediately upon seeing him. Ed wasn't quite sure what to say, so he stood there silently, staring hard at the floor. Hayate entered his field of vision and stared curiously up at him. Finally, Hawkeye spoke.

"Edward, are you alright?"

He looked up to see her staring anxiously at him. She didn't look very tired and she was wearing comfortable clothing, a muscle shirt and soft pants, her blond hair falling loose around bare shoulders. He wondered what she was doing and if he shouldn't have knocked. He realized then that she was probably waiting for a response, as her eyes looked more concerned by the second. "I don't know," was all he could manage to get out. He couldn't explain why he'd come here and he didn't know what else to say. Silently, she nodded, and stepped aside.

"Come in, then," she said, offering a gentle smile that Ed couldn't quite return. He stood there in the entryway, staring down at the puddle of water forming beneath him, until her worried face entered his sight again. Her hands rested softly on his shoulders. "You're soaked," she observed, pulling her hands away damp. "Do you want to hang your coat up to dry?"

Nodding mutely, Ed forced it off of his body— it clung to his wet clothes like a second skin, but eventually, he managed to tug it off. He hung it on the hook she gestured to, then slid off his boots and followed her into the dining room. The light was on, casting a yellow glow in the otherwise dark apartment, and the wooden table was piled high with papers. Another pinprick of guilt tingled in his chest. Maybe he shouldn't have come. She was working.

But she didn't seem too concerned about that right now. "Are you cold?"

He hesitated, then slowly admitted, "Yes…"

"I'm afraid I don't have any clothes that will fit you, but you can use this." She handed him a soft-looking dark blue blanket, which he gratefully wrapped around his shaking shoulders. "Would you like a towel for your hair?"

He shook his head no, not wanting to be more of a burden that he already was. For a moment, Hawkeye pursed her lips, but she said nothing more on the subject. Instead, she remained silent, waiting for him to talk. When it became evident Ed wasn't going to say anything, she cleared her throat.

"Would you care to explain why you thought it was a good idea to be outside during a storm like this? It's cold out there. You could get sick."

Ed shrugged. He felt awful. He'd gone and bothered her and now he didn't even know what to say. "I guess I've just got a lot on my mind," he said finally, meeting her gaze. Then, he muttered, "I'm sorry. You're probably busy. I can go."

"No." Her voice was even. "Something's bugging you, isn't it?"

He smiled slightly— he could always count on her to get straight to the point. Well, he'd come here to talk. He might as well try. "Yeah," he said slowly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. "I just… I guess I'm starting to lose hope." A short, bitter laugh. "I don't know what to do, Lieutenant… I just feel desperate. Al's life must be torture. He can't eat, he can't sleep— you know that feeling you get, when you stay up too long and everything starts feeling hopeless? You get depressed and you can't escape your thoughts and you start feeling like you might explode because you can't get away from yourself?"

"I am familiar with that, yes," she said darkly. Ed's lips stretched into a grim smile that looked more like a grimace than anything.

"Al hasn't slept in years. He's been stuck with his thoughts for all that time. All the things we've gone through… I can barely remember them all, but he can. Because that's all he's got at night." Hawkeye looked very concerned by now, but Ed couldn't stop talking. It was like a dam was broken. "I don't know how he does it. He's stronger than me— I would have lost my mind by now. But he's always smiling and laughing and it's like those nights don't matter but they _do_ because I can hear the exhaustion and terror in his voice sometimes. He's dying, did you know?" Her eyes widened marginally, but otherwise she remained neutral, and Ed let out another humourless laugh, this one strained by the choked threat of tears. "He keeps cutting in and out— the armor's rejecting him, and if I don't get his body back soon he's dead." His voice was strained. "My little brother is going to die, and it's all my fault."

She hesitated and chose her words carefully before speaking. "Edward, even if that's true, you can't allow yourself to lose hope." Tentatively, she put her hand over his clenched metal one and smiled when he looked up at her with wide, helpless eyes. "It isn't your fault. No, don't interrupt," she said firmly when he opened his mouth, "it's the truth. Alphonse decided, on his own volition, to do the human transmutation with you. You can't blame yourself."

"Still," Ed whispered, trying desperately to hold back the tears that were finally coming. "I can't do anything _now_. I have no clue how to get him back to normal. No one does. What if it's impossible?" His fist clenched tighter under her hand. "I don't care about my damn limbs— but Al, he needs his body. I can't take it knowing he's going through all of this alone, every night. And that he might—he… what if I can't get it back?"

"You'll figure something out," she said softly. "You always do." She sounded so certain of it that Ed could almost believe her. "You're a genius, Ed. You've done things grown men can't even think up and you've done them damn well. Did you know the Colonel said that he thought that you had the ability to change the world?" When Ed looked shocked, and his heart did a funny thump, she nodded. "He wasn't lying, either. He genuinely thinks you are the most intelligent and talented alchemist this world has ever seen. And I believe him." She smiled at him. "He's an uncannily good judge of character, and he has no doubt in him that you'll get Al's body back. There's a bond between you two brothers that's too strong to break, and I doubt your stubbornness would let it anyhow." Her smile turned a bit wry. "You just have to keep your head up and _remember _that stubbornness."

Ed smiled back at her, his eyes wet. "The Colonel… he really said that?" he asked, incredulous. "He really thinks… _you_ really think that?"

"He did, and he does. And I do. You can't allow yourself to lose hope. If you lose hope, you might as well say good-bye to Alphonse right now." Another pained look passed over his face, and she continued, "But if you keep going— and keep believing— you'll find the way. Nothing's impossible." She chuckled slightly. "Hell, if you'd told me years ago I was going to be facing creatures that can't die no matter how many times you kill them and that I'd be acquainted with a young boy who is nothing more than a human soul bonded to an empty suit of armor, I would have said it wasn't possible. But it is. And if something that crazy is possible, then getting Alphonse's body back is possible too."

Ed let out a shaky exhale. "Thank you," he said, his voice uneven as he tried to fight the tears and swallow past the painful lump in his throat. It had been a good decision to come here, and he was glad he had; in all her sincerity, she had managed to make some form of hope flare up in him again. "I know you're right— I know I can't lose hope. It can't be impossible, but… it's hard." He swallowed thickly. "It's hard to think that knowing that if I'm too late I could lose my brother."

"I know it's hard. But that's life." She squeezed his hand slightly, even though he couldn't feel it, and offered another smile. "You just have to stay strong and get through it."

"You're right." He straightened and smiled back at her— and this time, it was real. "I'm sorry. You probably have more important stuff to do than comfort me." Then, quietly, he added, "But thanks. Really. I needed to hear that."

"It's no problem. I could tell from the second I saw you that I wasn't going to be getting any more work done for a while, but I don't mind. There are more important things." Her sharp eyes observed him for a moment. He felt a little better, but that hollow feeling was back, and it was growing and threatened to swallow him and he felt like crying in desperate anger again. Damn it. This wasn't about Al. This wasn't anything close to it— and that pissed him off, because Al was his priority but this damn thorn in his chest was getting to be too troublesome to ignore. If he could describe it, he'd call it emptiness… but he wasn't quite sure even when it got to the point that he was blanked out and staring emptily at the wall in front of him. And it started the cycle all over again. If he couldn't even figure out what he was _feeling_, how the hell was he going to figure out what to do for Al?

He realized Hawkeye's soft voice was speaking to him again and blinked, tearing his gaze away from the olive paint and to her claret eyes. "Sorry, what?"

"I was asking if anything else was bothering you." She paused, then, like he might break down anytime, and then she finished, "It's just that you look lost again. Are you still worried about Alphonse?"

"Of course I am," he responded, fidgeting. "But there's…something… else." He picked at the blanket again. She waited expectantly for him to elaborate, but he never did. She sighed.

"Edward."

"I don't know what it is," he said, frustrated. He clutched at his chest where his heart would be and gave her a wide-eyed, irritated look. "It's… I don't know. It's like this weird hollow feeling. You know?" He hesitated, biting his lip. "Like… something's missing. I already have enough to worry about, what with Al and with whatever the Homunculi and that bearded bastard are planning… but then there's this. And I don't know how much more I can take."

He stopped then, almost embarrassed at having said so much, and stared hard at her dinner table. What was he doing? Getting all emotional and talking about his feelings like this? Granted, he never had been the best at _not_ being emotional, but— he never had been one to pour his heart out like this. But maybe that was part of the problem. He'd never had anyone to _talk_ to about this, besides Al, but he didn't exactly want to talk to Al about it because he didn't even know what it was and he didn't want to make Al worry because Al already had enough to worry about on his own. It was a goddamned never-ending cycle of bullshit and Ed didn't think he could keep going this way without losing it.

Hawkeye was nodding thoughtfully, like she understood exactly what he was saying even though _he _didn't even have any clue what it meant. "Edward, may I ask a personal question?" she finally inquired after a moment of silence. Ed blinked and looked up at her, startled by her serious tone.

"Uh… yeah, sure," he answered, nodding. For another moment, she simply looked at him, and damn, did Ed feel like those eyes could see right through him. Then her gaze softened.

"Do you have anyone special to you?"

Ed blinked again, a bit taken aback. "Well… yeah. There's Al, there's all you guys, even Mustang, even though he's a shit-head most of the time…" He trailed off, but quickly went on, "There's Winry and Pinako, and Paninya, and—"

"No." She cut him off softly. "I don't mean like that. I mean… someone precious." She smiled gently. "Someone you love, but not in the way you love your brother, or your friends."

Ed felt his cheeks heat up as he finally understood what she meant. He carefully avoided her eyes. "I don't know," he said dully. "I'd never really thought about it."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What about Winry?"

"What about her?"

"Well, why don't you take a trip to Risembool? You'll be able to see her."

Ed wasn't quite sure what Hawkeye was getting at. He shrugged. "I don't think that's the best idea. I don't want to bring her down, too. Plus, she's usually pretty busy this time of year."

Hawkeye paused, her eyebrows raised. "I thought you'd be excited to see her."

"I dunno. I guess. I miss her. I mean, yeah, I miss her a lot, but it's not like I haven't gone longer without seeing her."

Something seemed to click in Hawkeye's mind. "Didn't you say you had feelings for her, last time you were here?"

"No," Ed said sourly, cheeks feeling hotter by the minute. "I actually firmly denied it."

"Well, do you?" Her tone was serious, and he guessed that that meant she wasn't in the mood to tolerate any more beating around the bush. He sighed. At least he could count on her to get things surfaced.

"Honestly?" he said quietly, picking at the blanket again. "No. Winry's my best friend… and she's a sister to me. I'd do anything for her, but… I can't bring myself to see her in that way." He let out a small, bitter laugh, then darkly muttered, "Trust me, I've tried. I _wish_ I could feel that way about her. It would be a lot simpler." It was a pathetic response, and he knew it, but it was the truth.

"Huh," Hawkeye said thoughtfully, nodding slowly. "So, you aren't in love with her anymore?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." Ed shifted a little and let out a long, tired sigh. "You know, I don't think I ever was. I think I just… wanted to. But I can't."

Hawkeye was nodding again, her eyes narrowed in thought as she studied him. He felt a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny and squirmed in the chair, subconsciously pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He stared down at the soft fabric, thinking idly of how it reminded him of those dreadful military uniforms. Then his mind started drifting, like it usually did, and he started vaguely thinking about how much he hated the military, but how much he needed it to keep researching for ways to get Al back, and how the Colonel had given him a lead the other day that he still had to go and check out, and then how much of a bastard the Colonel was, even though— he'd admit it— Mustang was probably one of the only people he really trusted. He furrowed his brow and pushed that thought back into his head, not even sure why he'd thought it in the first place.

Hawkeye had said something, but he'd missed it while he'd been stuck in those weird thoughts. "Sorry," he said warily, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "What was that?"

"I asked if you had any idea what the feeling was. The hollow feeling you described."

"Oh." Ed shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just losing it." He laughed slightly. "Wouldn't be surprised."

Hawkeye was not amused, apparently. "You're lonely, Edward." Her voice was blunt. He stared at her, something stirring in his chest.

"Oh," he mumbled. He tensed when the throbbing hollow in his chest pulsed. _Lonely_. That described it perfectly. How he felt so desperately lost and alone, even though he was constantly surrounded by others— and how sometimes, at night, he'd find himself clinging desperately to a pillow in an attempt to imagine a body next to him. Why he always felt bitter when he saw a happy couple, and why he'd even felt that throbbing pain whenever Hughes used to talk about his wife. He resented himself for feeling it, but he realized it was true. He was lonely. He didn't fucking have _time_ to be lonely, but emotions were a strange thing.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and he was sure every emotion was displayed on his face, like a painting at a museum, right there in the open for the world to see. "How did you know?" he whispered. If he spoke louder, he felt like he might shatter. The only reason he was keeping it together was because of sheer stubbornness.

"You have the same look I had before," she explained gently. "You're sixteen. Your brother is a seven-foot suit of armor, and even though you don't love him like that, he can't give you any of what you need, and you say you don't know if there is anyone precious to you. I can tell you what it is you're missing— it's human touch." For a moment, he felt dreadfully awkward, terrified he was about to get the sex-talk from her, but she just shook her head. "It's perfectly normal to feel that way. Even I feel that way sometimes."

Ed looked down at the blanket, cheeks warming again. "How the hell am I supposed to do something about that?"

"Well, there _is_ someone you have feelings for. I can tell." Her eyes sparkled in amusement. "You had this look about you when I asked. And I bet you know who it is, too, but you don't know that you know."

Damn, this was confusing. And exhausting. Ed didn't know how to discern all of the jumbled screams and whispers that were his emotions. "I… well… Even if I did know, what am I supposed to do? I can't just go up to him and tell him," he grumbled. He realized his mistake too late and clenched his jaw, wishing in vain that he could take it back.

"Him?"

A horrible feeling of dread settled in Ed's stomach. He clenched his fists. _Stupid_. He hadn't meant to say that. Not to anyone. Not even to Al. His throat felt thick and he blinked quickly, fighting to control his breathing and remain calm as he stared awkwardly to the side. "I was just saying shit," he muttered under his breath. "I didn't mean it."

"Edward," she said exasperatedly. "You came here to talk to me, so do it. I couldn't care less if you prefer men over women."

"But it's wrong," Ed said in a small voice.

"Says who?"

"…Society?"

"And since when do you conform to society? Honestly, Ed, who cares? It's your life, so don't let anyone try to make you change. Alright?"

His throat thick, he nodded, trying to swallow past the painful lump under his Adam's apple. He was on a damn emotional rollercoaster tonight, and even though talking made the weight on his shoulders feel a bit lighter, it was setting him off like no one's business. He felt like he might start screaming and clutching his head any second now. Hawkeye's voice was gentle again.

"If you don't want to talk about this, I understand."

"No," Ed ground out, swallowing hard. "I do. I'm tired of being confused. I need help," he admitted. "I'm too clueless about this to figure it out alone, let alone what to _do_ about it." Then, he blew out a long sigh. "Well… I guess— I mean, I am… I don't like girls. I mean, I like them, but not like that." He bit his lip. "Say… Lieutenant."

"Yes?"

"How do you… how do you even know? If you… have feelings for someone?" It was hard to get out. He was no good at talking about things like this. It wasn't as if he'd ever done it before, and plus, he'd never given it much thought… But ever since she'd mentioned it, it had started making sense. And he sort of hated that, because there was an awful sense of anxiety that shook him when he started thinking about it. He had never considered things like that, because in his experience, it was a short-lived paradise that ended abruptly with pain and loss. Hohenheim walking out on his mother, Hughes getting murdered and never returning home, Winry's parents slaughtered in cold blood… Those, and many other memories haunted him and made him feel scared as hell to fall in love. It could never last. But he still wanted it. It still nagged at him and throbbed in his chest and clutched painfully at his heart and there was nothing he could do about it because he _wanted it._

"I suppose you just know," Hawkeye mused, setting her chin on her folded hands. Her claret eyes seemed to look right into his soul. He tried not to let anything show, but he could tell from her expression that he was an open book.

"I think you're right." His words surprised even himself. "I am… I mean, I do want that. Human touch or whatever. And I just… I have this feeling, you know? I know… who it is, I think… but…" He trailed off. After a moment, he spoke again. "Lieutenant, do you know the feeling?"

A small smile curved her pink lips. "I do."

"Can I… ask who?" He received a calm look in response, and asked, "Is it the Colonel?" It left a bitter taste in his mouth, and his heart felt funny as he selfishly— and stupidly— hoped that she might say no.

Her smile turned almost sad. "Roy Mustang is a very important person to me. I would gladly give my life if it meant saving his." Ed swallowed and looked down again. Hawkeye looked somewhat knowing underneath her sad smile, and softly said, "It's him, isn't it?"

Ed stared at her. "What?"

Her lips twitched. "He's the one you have feelings for."

Ed's entire face turned beet red and his eyes widened. Somehow, his heart managed to jump up in his throat, and it sat there pounding hard like it was trying to hurdle out of his mouth. Finally, he managed to collect himself enough to stutter, "W-why would you— say that?" He realized how pathetic that sounded and tried again. "Of course I don't have feelings for that damned idiot, that— that's j-just—" Gate, he was making it worse. Her eyes were laughing and she seemed to be fighting a smile. He finally fell silent altogether, glaring holes at the wall as if his embarrassment was its fault, crossing his arms firmly across his chest.

Her smile widened and her eyes sparkled again with something he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was nostalgia, or maybe it was amusement— or maybe a mix of both. He wasn't the greatest at figuring people's emotions out, especially when he was having trouble figuring out his own. Alphonse, the Colonel, desperation, loneliness, terror, depression— they all flew around in his head and made his chest feel fluttery and heavy and warm and chilled all at once.

"Well, Edward," she said softly, "if it's him, you chose well."

He didn't really know what to say. "Okay," he got out.

"He's a good man."

"He's an asshole."

"You say that so affectionately," she teased, grinning slightly when he stared at her in horror.

"Hawkeye— seriously, no!"

She shook her head, still smiling faintly. "Well, whatever you choose to do— accept it or not— don't give up on living, okay? I'm not just talking about whether you have feelings for him not. I'm talking about with Alphonse, too. I know this is hard, but you can make it through. So don't stop." Her smile was so sincere and gentle that it really did warm him up, and he found himself giving a small smile back despite everything.

"What's meant to happen will happen," she said. "You just have to keep walking."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

After talking to Hawkeye, he felt a little bit better. It was like she had taken a giant pressure off of his chest and for that, he was so grateful he'd even hastily pulled her into a hug before flushing furiously and thanking her and running off.

It had stopped raining by now. It was still misty, but his clothes were relatively dry by now, and his coat only held the slightest dampness. His hair was a frizzy, waving mess, but he didn't care about it all that much right now. After warming up and talking, he felt a little bit more human, and he had something important he had to do. He had to call Al. He didn't know when he'd be getting back, and he knew that by now, his brother was probably tearing up the hotel's surroundings looking for him.

He finally spotted a payphone and hurried to it, ignoring the puddles that splashed onto his pants. He clicked the glass door shut behind him and groped through his pocket with chilled fingers for some spare change. After a few moments of searching, he plunked a few coins in and waited as patiently as he could as the phone rang.

The receptionist picked up and barely had time to speak before Ed interrupted, "Could you connect me to the room the Elrics are staying in?"

"_Of course. Please hold_."

Moments later, there was a shrill voice in his ear. "_If this is you, Ed, you better damn well be ready for a _world_ of pain_—"

Ed winced; he'd expected this. "It's me," he said warily, trying to cut Al off before he could get himself even more worked up.

"_Where are you?_" Al demanded. "_It's been hours, you idiot! I've been worrying myself sick over you! You had better not be out wandering and torturing yourself."_

"I'm not…"

"_Don't lie to me, Ed."_ A sigh. "_But I know you won't admit it. Where are you?_"

"Just at a payphone right now," Ed answered, feeling a prickle of guilt. He didn't _want_ to lie to Al. He just didn't want to burden him.

"_Come back. Please_." Al paused, and Ed could hear the pain in his voice, and he had to shut his eyes and press out the gnawing blame he felt. "_It's late, and it was raining, and you're gonna get sick. I don't like seeing you like this_."

But of course Al could read him like a book anyway. "I think I'm going to walk around a bit more," he said quietly.

"_Brother, please_."

"I'm fine, Al. I went to Hawkeye's and I dried off and I'm not cold anymore." It was only a little fib; he was cold, but it wasn't so bad it was unbearable. "Don't worry about me."

"_How do you expect me to do that?_" Al demanded shrilly. "_I can't sleep, in case you've forgotten. I can't do _anything_ but stay up and worry about you._"

The words hit Ed like a ton of bricks and he felt exhausted again. He slumped against the glass frame of the booth. "Al…"

"_I know what you're doing. You're beating yourself up. In case you don't realize, I know what day it is too."_ His voice trembled._ "And I remember just as well as you. Don't _do_ this to yourself, Ed. It's not all your fault."_

But it _was_. Why couldn't anyone see that? "My minutes are almost up and I don't have any more change," Ed finally muttered. "I'll talk to you later."

"_Ed_," Al protested. "_Come back. Where are you going to go?"_

"I'm just gonna walk some more."

Al seemed to realize then that he wasn't going to get through to him, no matter what he said. He sighed. _"Fine_." His voice indicated that it was anything _but_ fine, and that Ed was going to get a severe talking-to later. "_Just promise me you'll be careful."_

"I promise," Ed replied, but the call cut then, and he was left listening to a flat tone that buzzed in his ear and just made the weight in his chest feel even heavier.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: So, Hawkeye and Ed have the best bro moment in Brotherhood. I really loved it so I had to include some of that in here. I promise I'll get around to the second chapter as soon as I can. (:**

**Thanks for reading, and leave a review, if you'd like!**


End file.
